


The History of the World

by paradiamond



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Nurmengard, Percival Graves POV, context for this story Grindelwald didn’t steal Graves’ identity he borrowed it, set after the first movie, very much non-compliant with the second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: After the events of New York, Percival and Credence both live in Nurmengard; Credence as Grindelwald’s favored weapon of mass destruction, Percival as his most dedicated follower. It doesn’t take long for the cracks in the mirror to show through.





	The History of the World

“Credence? I brought food,” Percival called out as he shouldered the door open and stepped into the drafty room without an invitation. 

There was no reply, but then, he hadn’t really expected one. Once again, Credence had shut himself away in his rooms and wasn't speaking to him.

Percival sighed audibly, making sure to be heard, and deposited the large plate in front of the sprawled figure, his face turned away defiantly, before moving to the fireplace. There weren’t many warm places in all of Nurmengard, which Percival tended to think was overkill, but their leader had a flair for the dramatic. 

It was part of why he adored Credence so much, why he went to such lengths to draw him in and keep him happy. When he attacked, everyone knew it, everyone saw. The no-maj’s called him a natural disaster wherever he struck, and it fit. He was pain and fear made flesh. A naturally occurring nightmare. 

With a flick of his wand, the fire came to life, bringing a little life to the room. Credence shifted in his seat pointedly, the high dark collar of his shirt reaching almost to his jaw, deep black against stark white. He had taken to wearing all his clothes like that, like armor. Strangely though, he had kept his hair that same terrible style. It was a mystery Percival might have been able to solve, if Credence could stand his company for more than a few days at a time. 

Percival gave him a dry look as he dropped down across from him on the leather couch, noticing how Credence’s dark eyes followed his every move, as always. He raised an eyebrow at him. “Problem?”

Credence’s eyes narrowed, and he pointedly looked away. Percival sighed. “What is it now?” 

“You know,” Credence muttered, under his breath. 

“This, again.” Percival rubbed his hand over his jaw. “How many times are we going to have this conversation?” 

Credence didn’t respond, which Percival took as a blessing in disguise. He truly had no desire to walk through the events of New York ever again. It was pointless. Much like Percival sacrificing his very little free time to spend time with someone who professed to hate him. 

There was a book on the table between them, so perfectly centered it looked like a decoration, but Percival knew this room well and Grindelwald abhorred clutter. He reached down to pick it up, feeling Credence’s eyes on him as he moved. “The Other History of Magic: What Lies in the Dark.” 

Percival nodded, ignoring that old twinge of instinctive revulsion against the Dark Arts. Credence wouldn't know, of course, that Percival’s ancestor, his great great great grandfather or some such, had been one of the founding aurors of MACUSA. A great legacy that all three of his sons and their sons had followed, except for his father, the youngest. No, he had dabbled in dark magic and eventually, when it could no longer be ignored by those in polite society, was thrown into prison where he soon died under suspicious circumstances. 

At school, Percival had gotten a hold of some dark magic books and found them not to be as horrible as he hoped. They were all simply the terrible application of otherwise benign magical principles. It enraged him then, and it irritated him now. He had wanted, desperately so, for dark magic to be the reason that his father hit him, that he had ruined their family and gone to prison, not just his father’s bad nature, or something Percival himself had done. 

In spite of it all, Percival rose above and became an Auror. People applauded him. Everyone loved a redemption story. Then he burned it all down for the sake of Wizards everywhere, and most of them would never understand why. 

He set the book down, and leaned back against the couch. “Perhaps you shouldn’t flaunt this. The others are terrified of you.” 

A bit of life crept into Credence’s eyes, amused. “Good.” 

“Credence.” 

Abruptly, Credence stood, all sudden movement and sharp lines, and for a moment Percival’s heart leapt to his throat with the instinctive understanding that Credence could have just decided to kill him. If Credence noticed, he didn’t say anything, too focused on holding himself upright, still uncomfortable in the finery Grindelwald dressed him in even after all this time. 

“I should check on Modesty,” he said, eyes on the door. 

Percival caught his sleeve as he passed. Credence paused, and Percival let his hand slip down to link their fingers together, cradling but not holding. Credence didn’t do well with being restrained in any way, not anymore. 

Credence closed his eyes. “What?” 

“Come to me tonight if you’d like. I don’t like the idea of you sleeping alone.” 

“I prefer it.” 

Percival smiled. “No, you don’t.” 

For a long moment, Credence hesitated. 

Credence, who was trapped in that terrible middle ground of the abused. Old for his age and yet still a child in so many ways at the age of twenty three. Percival didn’t know what to do about it, even less so than usual. 

Credence, who complained to Percival about Grindelwald keeping him like a pet, living in luxury but still like a caged animal, and yet couldn’t see that he was doing the same to his sister, who was plainly terrified of him. 

He pulled his hand away, and Percival let him go. 

***

Percival had met Credence on Tina’s request. Her pet project, or so he had thought. Percival suspected that he was a squib right away, which was unfortunate but there was, of course, nothing he or anyone else could do about it. It did mean, however, that he could tell him about magic. Squib or not, he didn’t like seeing a young man suffer abuse. 

Credence always looked at him like he was the sun, like he hung the moon itself, but only when he thought Percival wasn’t looking. It was sweet, and made a welcome change from the growing conflict in Europe and the spillover chaos coming into his country. Credence didn’t know about any of it. To him, magic was wonder, and it helped Percival feel the same, to remember what magic was, why it mattered. 

Once, when Percival was healing Credence’s wounds, he leaned in, and Credence mistook the gestures for something else entirely. He closed the gap between them, desire overlapping with desperation, and Percival froze, shocked at being kissed. Credence pulled away, visibly horrified with himself, and Percival didn’t want that, so he kissed him again, actively this time, and Credence all but melted, thankful and rapturous. Flattering. A bring spot amongst the darkness, which was growing by the day. Neither of them pushed it farther that day. 

There was more and more discontent. Grindelwald’s words were also highly publicized, fodder for the masses that ate it up. Percival wanted to be annoyed, but the more he read, the more he thought, and wondered. 

He shared some of this with Credence inadvertently. Credence was always asking questions. It could be interesting, this outside perspective, but also frustrating for both of them. When he answered them, Credence sometimes grew confused, and Percival couldn’t blame him. 

“But,” Credence said, frowning. “Why do witches have to hide if they’re so powerful?”

Percival stared at him for a long time. “I- I don’t know.”

Credence cocked his head to the side, and there were more questions in his eyes. It made Percival uncomfortable to think that Grindelwald might be the one with the answers. 

Revolution. A rather American sentiment for an Eastern European, but it would be the first of its kind. A Wizarding revolution to end the International Statute of Secrecy, creating a benevolent global hierarchical order led by wise and powerful witches and wizards. Percival picked at the corner of the paper. It was ridiculous. Even if it were a worthy goal, it was impossible. 

But Albus Dumbledore claimed that Grindelwald could render himself invisible without the use of an invisibility cloak. To achieve such a state, Grindelwald would have used an extremely powerful Disillusionment Charm, which would be a tremendous feat, especially considering that Grindelwald was supposedly able to achieve it when he was only seventeen.

It was clearly impossible. And yet. 

Percival shoved the thing into a drawer. But he didn’t throw it away. 

***

Credence did come to him that night, in the dark of the castle prison. He didn’t speak for a long time, just laid on Percival’s chest and let him pet his hair, sharing the space. The air was quiet and still. Peaceful. 

“If I wanted to leave...if I asked you to help me-” 

Percival froze, his hand still in his hair. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Where would you go?”

“I don’t know,” Credence repeated, pushing up and away so he could look at Percival’s face, the expression on his own familiar, coming straight from a time where they met in alleyways and the biggest monster in his life was his mother. 

Credence, for all that he was used to being careful, was still so inexperienced. Only a few days ago he’d said something ill advised at dinner, it didn’t matter what, it never did, and Percival saw Grindelwald's eyes narrow in suspicion and displeasure. Credence hadn’t seemed to notice at all. 

Percival had followed him, concern rotting his stomach nearly inside out. He caught Credence by the sleeve. “You have to be more careful than that.” 

Credence pulled away, irritated. His tolerance for touch varied from day to day. “What?”

“With him. You have to be careful. You have his favor now, but don’t push him.” 

Credence tipped his chin back, the gesture clearly studied and uncomfortable on him. “Why? He values me.”

Percival wanted to shake him. “Yes. You are valued because you are useful, powerful. You do amazing work for the cause, but don’t assume that he’ll always just let you do what you want, let you keep what you want.”

“He let me keep you,” Credence shot back, and then immediately paled, like a student caught out swearing in class. 

Percival had laughed, startled. 

It made him smirk now, and Credence noticed, still sitting across his legs. “What?” 

“Nothing. Just you.” 

***

Once he’d decided to go, it didn’t take long for Percival to have himself sent to Europe. He was the head of his Department, a trusted figure in the Magical Congress. It was simple, so much so that it twisted his insides into knots to think about. 

He told Credence that he would be gone for awhile before he left, and the boy took it easily, used to compromise. He just took what he was given, like a good squib. Percival didn’t think too hard about leaving him behind. It was, after all, where he belonged, and he would either learn to be strong or he wouldn’t. Percival couldn't do it for him. 

Even as he was traveling, always moving, always, even as he planned Grindelwald's capture, he knew what he was going to do. It lurked under his skin, in the corner of his mind. 

When he found Grindelwald, he did it by himself. Before the raid. 

Grindelwald seemed surprised, but interested, and grew more so as Percival explained himself. Proved it. He warned Grindelwald about the raid. 

Grindelwald had just smiled. “Let them come.”

The devastation was a wake up call, a call to action. A necessary evil. Percival had seen it before, in the war. For the greater good. 

They planned the switch. Percival gave Grindelwald his memories willingly, gave him everything he needed to know. Obviously, he saw Credence, there in the mix. Percival was even a little embarrassed, but Grindelwald waved him off. “Do you think I am not also a man? I understand.”

It was the last they spoke of it. It didn’t occur to Percival that Grindelwald would contact Credence at all, that he could be relevant. 

While Grindelwald took his place in America, Percival did his work in other parts of the world, discreetly. Gathering intelligence, recruiting, laying traps for potential problems. He wasn’t an Auror for nothing. 

Then New York exploded. Of course, Percival heard about it. Grindelwald captured. 

Unfortunate, but fixable. 

Credence Barebone, muggle anti-magic extremist turned obscurus, now dead. 

Percival didn’t know what to feel. He couldn’t go back, not really, not as himself, but he needed to gather the intelligence. He was depended upon. 

When Grindelwald got out, he would expect Percival to be there, to be ready. So he went, to get ready, to lay the foundation, and on the way, he found Credence, still alive, but barely. It seemed he was the only one looking. 

***

Percival came back from Germany to find their home in chaos. 

He moved through the flurry of bodies, dodging past servants and lesser agents all trying to get out of the way of the carnage. The entire left wing was gone, decimated in an all too familiar pattern. Percival grabbed the arm of the idiot nearest to him. “What happened?” 

“Grindelwald’s pet,” the man spat. “He got into something, I don't know-” 

Percival shoved him away. He did. 

Credence was more or less where he expected to find him, curled up by a tree in the interior gardens. It used to be that he would seek shelter inside, keeping out of wide open spaces. He longed for the security. Now, he was buying his own press, and showing how he really felt more and more. 

Percival crouched down beside him, his elbows braced on his knees. “You know you weren’t supposed-” 

“I know!” Credence didn’t raise his head, still half smoke, embedded in the tree, fading at the edges. 

“You have to be careful.” 

“I know.” He turned his face just enough so that one eye could peak out from the cradle of his arms. It pulled at Percival’s heart, and he wanted to take him in his arms, protect him from the shadows of his own mind. But it wouldn’t help. 

“Good.” He stood. From above, dozens of eyes watched from the windows, fearful and curious. “Come on, we need to get some chocolate into you.” 

Credence grunted. “I’ve had enough.” 

“Apparently not.” He held his hand out. Soon enough, Credence reached out and took it, his shape resolidifying. Percival squeezed, grateful to feel bones and skin. He feared the day when Credence wouldn’t be able, or willing, to put himself back together again. 

They walked back inside, through the kitchen, up the backstairs, and into Credence’s room. No one approached them. Percival didn’t even see them go. In the distance, he could hear yelling. There would be hell to pay for the one that allowed this. So much so that Percival hoped that Credence had already killed him in his rage and despair. 

A drop of sweat rolled down Percival’s back. More and more, it became clear. Grindelwald was utterly self-defeating, a power-mad genius too wrapped up in his own world to affect change in the real one. 

On paper, everything he argued for made sense. They shouldn't have to hide, they should find a better way. He was right, but his methods were so destructive and alienated so many of their potential allies that they couldn’t possibly win, not in the long term, not in any way that counted. Percival saw it happening, powerless to do anything but try to mitigate the damage. 

Credence dropped onto the bed like someone cut his strings, clutching the chocolate in a vice grip. “They’re horrible.” 

“Yes.” Percival fussed with the curtains. No matter what he did, the room was always cold. “They are.” 

Grindelwald had been experimenting with the Dementors on and off for weeks, trying to weaponize them without putting his own people at risk at the same time. This set-back might be the end of that, he wouldn’t risk Credence for anything, at least not yet. Soon, after he was done dealing out punishments, Grindelwald would likely come find them and send Percival away, all concern and charm. He would want to talk to Credence alone. Percival never liked it, but he always went. 

For now, Percival went back over to Credence, busy getting lost in the haze of his own mind. 

“Are you angry with me again?”

Credence didn’t look up. The chocolate was melting, now sitting at a forty five degree angle in the wrapper. Percival took it and set it on the table, and when he turned back Credence was glaring at him. “Why am I here?” 

That was not a particularly safe line of questioning. “I asked if you were angry with me.” 

“You left me.”

Percival frowned. “He sent me away, I had to go.” 

“Not now.”

“What?”

“Back in New York.” 

Percival sighed and sat down next to him. “I did.”

“Why? She hurt me.” 

The wind drifted through the curtain, rustling the papers from Credence’s aborted lessons in Wizarding history. His focus wasn’t terribly good. Percival hardly blamed him. 

“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

Credence gave him a sidelong look. “I don’t feel particularly strong.”

“Well, you are.” Percival set his hand on his shoulder. “It gets easier. It did for me.” 

Credence blinked at him. “This happened to you?”

Percival hesitated. “Well, yes.” 

***

When Percival found him again in New York, Credence was decimated. Near death, his magic weak. He looked both like a child and like he had aged a million years, curled up in an abandoned train platform way out in Brooklyn. 

It had been Percival’s intention to take him back to Europe right away, but he was in no fit state to travel. Most days he could barely stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, and he had shed even more weight he couldn’t afford to lose. A walking skeleton, torn apart by an invading force. 

It made Percival furious. Any doubts he had about his new allegiance were gone. How could they do this to one of their own? If Percival had been there, they would have asked him to participate, to help destroy a young wizard, beaten and tormented for what he was. And for what? The sake of the no-majs? It was insanity. 

“Mr. Graves?” The voice was soft, and still rough, like he’d been screaming. Percival turned away from the window right away, going to his side. 

“Credence, how are you feeling?” They’d been over this, but his memory was still healing, he might not remember. 

Credence frowned, the panic starting to build in his eyes, long repressed. Percival kept his distance but pointed to the window. “We’re in New Jersey, across the river. I’m the real Percival Graves, not Grindelwald. I found you after you were attacked in New York and brought you here.” 

There were other pertinent facts, but it was best not to overwhelm him so soon. Credence blinked rapidly. “I- I can’t feel it anymore.” 

Percival nodded. “They damaged your magic.” 

It was like a cloud passing over his face. “Good, it was evil.” 

“No!” Percival said, more harshly than he intended to. He scaled it back before Credence could panic. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Credence. There never was.” 

Credence turned his face away, towards the wall. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see-” 

“I didn’t have to see. I know what happened to you, and it wasn’t your fault. It’s actually very impressive that you’ve made it this far, living under those conditions. You clearly possess a great deal of strength.” He shifted his weight, uncomfortable even at the thought of being made to suppress magic in that way. “I can’t fix your magic here, someone stronger will have to do that, but I can keep you safe.” 

There was a long silence, like a black hole, pulling them in. The pressure was immense. Percival could imagine the turmoil he must have been experiencing. 

“Tell me.” 

“What?” 

“Everything.” 

Percival pulled the chair from the desk and sat down. After a long time, Credence rolled over, sat up, joined him. “You’re right, I owe you the whole truth.” 

He gave it, and Credence listened, clearly upset, torn. Towards the end, he vacillated between extreme anger and uncontrolled sobbing, all that energy now with no outlet, no accompanying magical explosion. 

Percival stared, oddly reminded of himself it the school bathroom when he heard his father had been sent to prison. He broke his hand on the sink, cried himself into a stupor on the floor. Childish, but necessary. Credence didn’t much look like he felt better, and he didn’t seem to know what to do, knowing now that Percival left on purpose, that he worked for the organization that hunted him in the past and now for the man that hurt him more deeply. 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

Percival set a bowl of food down in front of him, watching hunger override pride in a matter of seconds. “You’re free to do what you wish. Tomorrow, I’ll help you go and find Modesty, and then it’s up to you.” 

The open suspicion in his face stung, but he deserved it. “Why?”

“You’re one of us. We take care of our own.” 

Credence nodded, the exhaustion in his frame giving Percival sympathetic pains. The no-majs had never done anything good for him, and then when he tried to join the wizarding world the first time, the aurors blew him to pieces. No-man’s land. “Am I?” 

“You are.” Grindelwald had already seen that. Percival smoothed his hand down the side of Credence’s face and watched him lean in, drawn to it. “If you ask me, you should be with us. You can help make sure that things that happened to you don’t ever happen to anyone else. But you have time to decide, we still need to get him out of custody.” 

Credence had grown very still. “What’s he like?” 

Percival knew then that they already had him. 

***

Nurmengard was silent, still in the night. There was no watch posted, Grindelwald never felt the need for such pedestrian tactics. He relied so much on magic he failed to see anything else. He failed to see so much. 

Percival shook Credence awake by the shoulder, his other hand going to his own lips in the universal signal for quiet. He didn’t dare to put his hand over Credence’s mouth or restrain him. The last thing they needed was for Credence panic and let his power out, still so raw after all this time. 

“Graves, what-” 

“Quiet. You still want to go? Get some things, we’ll get Modesty next.” 

Credence froze, then slid into action, throwing his most utilitarian clothes into a bag. No high collars and lace this time. He didn’t spare a glance for anything non-essential. 

“Where?” 

“Hogwarts, it’s-” 

“A school.” 

“Yes, there are people there that will help you. Us,” he corrected, trying not to worry him. Percival would be valuable as an informant, but he wasn’t sure how much. Between Credence’s raw destruction and Percival’s treason it was a lot to forgive. “We’ll be fine there.” 

Or they would run, and Grindelwald would hopefully forget them in time, distracted by his hatred for Dumbledore and his allies. 

They moved through the halls, up back staircases and across the courtyard in the cover of darkness. Credence was unsure, Percival could see it, but he kept a strong grip on his hand, more afraid of letting go than pulling away. He wasn’t meant to be here, to be this. None of them were. Magic was freedom, and it was meant to be free. 

For as long as he could remember, Percival had done the right thing no matter the consequences. He had stood by his father when it was expected of him and denounced him when it was not. He had been the best at school, had thrown himself in the right sort of magic to redeem his family name. Then, when he realized that some things were bigger than just him, then just his family, he had thrown away his name, his career, his life, all for the cause. 

They slipped through a doorway, into the wing where Modesty was kept. In his pocket, Percival carried a portkey. He was trusted here, just as he’d been trusted at MACUSA. They would be gone before anyone noticed, far away before anything could be done. 

Credence hugged his sister, then he looked up at Percival, just like he used to. None of them should live in a prison. 

If he was a better man, Percival would stay. He would devote himself to fixing the cracks in the glass, making it possible for the future Grindelwald saw to become a reality. He would save Grindelwald’s movement from its creator, become the reason behind the rhetoric, the head behind the hands. 

But Percival had been a good soldier his entire life. Now, he wanted to be something else.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> paradiamond.tumblr.com ~ for more of this


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